stocked, loaded and ready to fire...

Tis' January and our well-endowed woodpile patiently rests, like a battalion in tight formation, taunting Mother nature to give us her best shot. And that she will, hitting us deep with a bone numbing chill and a soul sapping greyscale to numb our shortened days. But with her worst comes the faint sweet memory of spring, and it's warmth that invades. In the meantime, we'll continue to sacrifice these rustic troops to the cause of coziness, and wait along with their remaining comrades.